


Fynn

by etaeternum



Series: Mother of Griffons [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Babies, Celebrations, F/M, Flirting, Fluffy Ending, Happy Ending, Parenthood, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 17:39:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6866506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etaeternum/pseuds/etaeternum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Dadistair Caboodling contest. The King and Queen share a new experience. (It's a possible- fluffy- ending to Mother of Griffons.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fynn

**Author's Note:**

> If you want a playlist, [ this is what I have in mind ](https://open.spotify.com/user/etaeternum/playlist/2Ilo0EGypz4IB9TGCGkwuW). If you don't have Spotify, [ this is the song ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=asjzZ0-Zk8Yb) I hear during the second and third sections- if you want a soundtrack to those parts.  
> Hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think. If you enjoyed this and you want to know about Alistair and Caoilainn's history, read ["Mother of Griffons."](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6370990/chapters/14592184)

Off. It was the only word that could describe his wife that day. She seemed lost in a daydream, constantly distracted as she paced the castle, gazing out of windows, a somber look in her eyes. The reason eluded him but kingly responsibilities prevented him from talking to her until later that day. 

Since they had returned to the Royal Palace from Skyhold one year ago, she had been diligent in resuming her role as the Queen. Meeting regularly with officials, creating responsibilities that required her technique and time. It all kept her mind off the absence of the Taint in her blood. The hum of the Grey Warden connection was no longer present, and it was necessary for her to adjust.

The change had been effortless for Alistair, who had already acclimated to being without the Grey Wardens. Caoilainn's journey through the bereavement of her tie to them was challenging. It required her to officially step down as Warden Commander, and her role as the ‘Mother of Griffons’. Her place was no longer at Vigil's Keep; her sanctum there removed.

A year had passed since Morrigan helped them find the cure, making fifteen years since they defeated the Blight. Yet her original goal for the cure, to bear him a child, had not been met. Late night conversations with calm voices allowed them to discuss the reality that a child may never come to them. It was a much different experience than before when they could not conceive; when she ran away; when she obsessed over the Grey Wardens to fill that void. Everything was different now, and Caoilainn’s stability was a welcome change from last time.

So today, when he saw her quietly distant, detached, he worried her sadness had returned. Her remorse for their inability to conceive tugged at his heart. He saw her pain. Though Alistair had never been as concerned with having a child as Caoilainn, he understood her sadness. Of course, he was not opposed to the idea. Quite the contrary; he was certain being a father would be wonderful. But he was diligent to withhold from becoming excited about something that may not be possible.

After a morning of meetings with various officers, advisors, and a visiting dignitary- the last meeting being one Caoilainn had organized and was expected to attend- he found her at the balcony outside their room, looking out over the city to the ocean in the distance. She said the ocean reminded her of Highever. The heat of summer did not seem to faze her; the breathable fabric of the light blue dress she wore, comfortable in the warm breeze.

He walked to stand behind her, his hands meeting the balcony ledge on either side of her body. He softly kissed her neck before nuzzling his head in the crook. In a whisper, he asked with calm, loving curiosity: “What’s wrong, my love?”

Caoilainn touched the back of his hand softly and turned to look over her shoulder at him. He stepped back to give space, and she faced him fully. Her eyes, the most unique silvery-blue he had ever seen, now obscure and lost, stared at him blankly. Alistair’s heart sunk when he gazed into them, certain he was losing her again. She stared at him in silence for what seemed like eternity as though an unpleasant news weighed on her heart. Head heavy with the sad fear of what she might say, he patiently waited. After a deep breath, she spoke. 

“I'm pregnant,” she said, her voice almost a question and her expression unreadable.

Gazing vacantly, brow vaguely furrowed in blank confusion, his head tilted slightly to the side. The words did not seem to fit together and his ability to process why did not seem to work. Instead, he stared back dumbfounded. “Are you sure?” It was all he could say.

After Morrigan helped cure them, the Taint cleaned from their blood, and their minds freed from the Calling, they had several false alarms. The prospect of having a child had clouded their minds, and every imagined sign or symptom of Caoilainn’s body changing led them to the instant conclusion of a baby. As they were wrong, time and time again, the occurrences ceased. 

“The healers told me this morning. He should be here in Guardian just after Wintersend,” she continued. Caoilainn was often the epitome of enigmatic to Alistair. He learned to trust her to express her swirling emotions when she was ready. And at the moment, his mind could not define his own reaction, let alone try to identify hers. She added, “It’s real this time.”

Alistair stared at Caoilainn; pure elation, a warm and lifting mass swelled in his chest. In a flash, his mind filled with images of Caoilainn being pregnant, what the child might look like, what having a child meant; fatherhood. The pressure in his chest overflowed, up his neck, filling his face with heat, and reaching his eyes until he felt the warmth of tears streaming silently down his face. 

“My King…” Caoilainn cooed sweetly, soothing his nerves with her palm pressed lightly against his chest.

Eyes drifting down to her stomach, he stared for a moment, then back up to her. “You’re… we’re pregnant?” His tone sang of wonderment. The words still coming together as a complete thought, a rational idea.

Tears welled in Caoilainn’s eyes and she smiled as her face became pink. She nodded repeatedly as though she could not believe it herself and thus unable to find words to explain the magnitude of emotions she felt.

He smiled widely, tears streaming excessively down his face. With both hands, he swept them away before his thumbs gently brushed the tears from her cheeks, cradling her face in his hands. Perhaps it was the dizziness he was experiencing, or the overwhelming urge to protect Caoilainn that overtook him, but he assessed her position near the rampart as far too dangerous and he needed to sit down. He quickly took her hand and pulled her into their room. Sitting on the bed and bringing her down on his lap, he touched her toned belly with astonishment. The slightest evidence of a bump just visible beneath her muscles. His eyes grew large with surprise as he gawked at her midsection.

Caoilainn’s hand guided his bearded jaw to face her. She gave a sigh and inhaled in preparation to speak, but Alistair’s amazement won over. Still unsure if he understood what she had said and the ramifications of the news, his mind racing with uncontrollable excitement, he interrupted.

“We’re having a baby?” He asked once more, still bewildered by the notion. But he did not wait for a reply as something she said finally clicked into his awareness. “Wait… you said he?”

Caoilainn’s eyes squinted as tears ran down her face. Pitiful, furrowed eyebrows spoke her sadness and fear that made the bittersweet mixture of these tears. Her happiness was haunted by shadows of her past. She nodded slowly.

“Alistair... I don’t think I can do this,” she admitted. “I can’t be a mom.” The sorrow and uncertainty in her expression was genuine. He saw she truly doubted her ability, and this too astonished him. His grin caused her face to twist with exasperated confusion, irritated with his humor at the situation.

Forcefully, he held her close. Wrapping his arms around her slender body. With his most effective charming smile, and the most stern and professional tone he could manage under these circumstances, he replied to her fears.

“My Queen, I don’t know a lot of things,” he began as if giving a lesson, resisting the urge to giggle and lose his calm as his giddiness tried to overtake him. “I mean; I do know things… but there’s some things I don’t know. Anyway… What I DO know is that you can do anything you want. If you want it, you make it happen. Don’t even try to tell me that isn’t true, my tenacious Queen.” He paused, playfully mocking her history of unruliness. “I also know that you will be an amazing mother, Caoilainn. You are caring and studious; devoted and thorough. You’re brilliant, my love. And there’s nothing you’ve wanted longer than this child. Our child.” He looked at her belly again, grinning as his hand rest against it. “So celebrate with me. That’s an order.”

Caoilainn smiled through her pouring tears. Her arms wrung around his neck and she hugged him closely. “Thank you, my King,” she whispered softly into his ear through contented sobs. 

Suddenly, Alistair leaned her back, supporting her body carefully. The vibration of his excitement was palpable as he grinned wildly, eyes wide with joy. “We’ll hold an event for the kingdom! With music, and a feast… with lots of cheese! Ferelden needs to know, Caoilainn: we’re having a son! I’m going to be King Dad!”

Caoilainn laughed lightly, witnessing the excitement she had suspected he harbored for nearly the last fifteen years finally coming out at one time. “Maybe we should start with preparing a nursery?”

“Oh. Yes… of course,” he said soberly, still grinning with mischief at his wife on his lap. He lifted her, standing up with her in his arms and spun her in a circle. “But before that… he needs a name,” he reminded as he set her down on her feet.

“Well… I was thinking about that.” She said, her eyes lowering, looking seriously at the floor. “Griffyn Bryce Theirin.”

They stood silently, allowing the name to resonate, echoing off the walls of the Royal Bedroom. Then Alistair took her chin to reconnect their gaze. “That’s a mighty name,” Alistair confirmed his approval, surprised at the power he heard from her words. “He’ll be Fynn for short. Queen Mom, it’s perfect. Bloody brilliant.”

* * *

Be it known, on this day,  
The 2nd of Pluitanis, 9:45, Age of the Dragon  
King Alistair Theirin and Queen Caoilainn Theirin welcomed  
Prince Theirin to the Kingdom of Ferelden.  
In honor of his birth,  
A celebration will commence in the capital, Denerim  
On the 5th of Pluitanis, 9:45.  
All those in good standing with the King may attend!

* * *

The drums beat loudly and trumpets blared. Under a rainbow of colors, confetti floated and danced from balconies and rooftops to the ground. The city rejoiced, unbridled by the chilly weather. Voices sang, ringing an uplifting and wordless chant from parapets at all ends of the city, echoing through the crowded streets of Denerim. Dancers and jesters livened still crowds and accented the music with laughter. Within the kitchens of the palace, cooks and servants prepared the feast, including tray upon tray of the fanciest cheeses. It was a glorious celebration, mirroring the deep and unconditional love of a King and Queen for their newborn, and resounding in the cheers of the city displaying its adoration for their King and Queen. 

The news of ‘Baby Theirin,’ as he was already nicknamed by the Kingdom, had spread throughout Ferelden long before his nameday. Rumors of the pregnant Queen, her sizeable belly, and irrefutable glow had quickly made its way from the mouths of nobles and serving girls to the rest of Denerim and beyond. Whoever was able joined the festivities on Baby Theirin’s celebration day, bringing attendees from throughout country, as well as allies from all ends of Thedas.

And then, starting from the Grand Hall of the Royal Palace and cascading out to the rest of Denerim, it fell silent.

“All rise for their Majesties, King and Queen Alistair Theirin!” A herald called near the doorway that separated the rest of the castle from the hall.

The King and Queen emerged, the wee Prince barely visible in the arms of his mother. Each step of the couple was audible in the silence; the attendees’ breath held as they waited for a glimpse of the babe. Alistair appeared as proud as any father could, illustrated by the beaming smile across his face and constant movement of his eyes back to his son. Caoilainn looked as stunning as ever, known for her porcelain skin and ashen-blonde hair, now worn loose, with two small braids around the sides meeting in the back to keep it out of her face. There was a new element to her beauty that none had seen before; a humbleness and contentment that radiated from her that could only be the result of becoming a mother. She looked from her son to her husband standing near her affectionately. The admiration in her eyes just masking the overwhelming satisfaction with the moment she shared with him. Though they both appeared tired, circles evident under their eyes, their Majesties emitted energy that was very much alive, exuberant with love for their precious son.

Reluctant to look away from the baby, King Alistair faced the Grand Hall and spoke in a powerful voice. “Ferelden! My Kingdom. You are strong and stable, more so than ever before. From the merchant in Denerim, to the fisherman in Redcliffe: the peace and prosperity of this country is clear. Hear me when I say: you are all the key to Ferelden’s future. So join me here on this day, the 5th of Guardian, 9:45, to welcome my son! As proud as I am to be your King,” he paused and murmured to Caoilainn. “Especially now that you’re here.” The Queen gave him a grin followed by a swift nudge with her hip to brightly chide his lack of ceremony. After a teasing delay, he returned to the audience. “Thanks to the extraordinary Queen Caoilainn, I am now proud to be a father. Ferelden! Please welcome your new Prince, Griffyn Bryce Theirin!” 

In an uproar, the Grand Hall cheered, and the sound carried beyond the hall to the streets outside. As if that was the cue, the music resumed, and the city continued its celebration for the Prince. 

Baby Theirin, the tiny and soft bundle of life, remained comfortably swaddled in his mother’s arms. Silent and sleeping through his entire presentation, the Prince did not wake until the feast that night. The celebration was still under way as the meal was served, music and dance continued. Griffyn stirred and gave a quiet whimper as the King and Queen sat at the High Table.

“He can sleep through anything but his hunger,” the Queen leaned over to whisper into Alistair’s ear. “I wonder who he gets that from?”

Alistair’s eyes twinkled as he grinned at his wife and son, “Hey, leave us alone. We’re growing boys; we need to eat.” His gaze wandered from Caoilainn to Griffyn who stared back with wide eyes.“Isn’t that right, Fynn?” The corners of Alistair’s eyes wrinkled with ardor as he spoke to Griffyn; the wee Prince gazing back in utter awe of his father cooed softly. 

Griffyn had his father’s striking hazel eyes, with greenish-blue on the outsides and gold around the iris. The fine hairs on the babe’s head were as blonde as his mother’s.

“He also seems to have inherited your tendency to drool in your sleep,” she continued with Fynn’s similarities to his father.

“Oh, right. Like you never drool, my dear,” Alistair replied sarcastically. “Definitely not in your deepest, most well-deserved rest.” He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively.

Caoilainn smiled back, and she whispered even lower so as not be overheard by any attendees. “And like father, like son- you both seem to have a fondness for my breasts.” Baby Theirin squirmed more in the swaddle, his lip quivering as a precursor to tears.

“I don’t understand what’s so surprising about this.” He shamelessly replied as if her statement was obvious. “What is there not to love?” 

Caoilainn’s smile did not diminish as she rolled her eyes at him; then she scooted her chair back and stood. She kissed her King’s forehead. “We’ll be in the nursery. Enjoy the feast; celebrate for us.” 

“I’ll be there soon,” he said reassuringly. “With a plate of food and a kiss for you, my dear Queen.” 

By the time the King reached the nursery, Baby Theirin had been fed, changed and tucked into bed. Caoilainn stood over the cradle, watching her son with a soft gaze. Her nose red, as though she had been crying, and her eyes shiny from fresh tears. Alistair set the plate of food down on a table and crossed the room to his wife. Delicate steps made sure his armor did not clink and disrupt Griffyn as he drifted into sleep. Alistair’s arms reached around Caoilainn to touch the crib on the either side of her body, and they looked down at their son reverently.

“What’s wrong, my love?” Alistair asked with calm, loving curiosity before he kissed her neck and nuzzled his head in the crook. 

“Absolutely nothing, my King,” Caoilainn replied.


End file.
